<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Tomorrow is another day by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769809">Tomorrow is another day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Osayachi fics!! [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drabble, F/M, Osamu dumb, pinning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:21:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,191</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769809</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s only one thing that gets Osamu through the work day</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Osamu/Yachi Hitoka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Osayachi fics!! [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tomorrow is another day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts"></a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ROBYN I LOVEYOU</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Getting out of bed was one of the things that Osamu hated the most. As he left the warmth of his bed, he felt bad for the comforters that would soon grow cold without him.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He needed to work though. The payments for all those expensive projects he’d work on were really taking a hit on his wallet, but it wasn’t like that damage was going to stop him. Osamu would keep experimenting around with creating random dishes even if that meant he couldn’t afford a new sweater for himself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu got himself ready for a long day at work, something that was usually extended past the normal nine to five, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself, and he’d stay late at work, standing at the stove for hours to get his new dish just right. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He brushed his teeth , fixing that messy tangle of dark hair in the mirror. It was the normal routine: brush his teeth, get dressed, do his hair, make a quick breakfast, head to work. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The chef in training did just that, and he headed to work in a grumpy manner. It wasn’t that he hated his job, it was that he hated his boss. The man teaching him how to perfect his cooking was truly an asshole. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Thinking about it put him in a bad mood, a frown on his face as he tied the two strings of the apron together behind his back. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Osamu, hey!” A familiar voice said. It was a voice that always made Osamu’s heart thump off rhythm, a voice that made him feel warmer than some freshly made onigiri, a voice that put him in a trance of swirly feelings and clouded vision. “Are you ready?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu made eye contact with the person who was locked in his mind. There was a bright smile on her face, a soft tint on her cheeks as always, her hair tied back into a safe pony tail (considering she was in the kitchen). </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey,” he responded. He thanked the Gods for his voice keeping stable as if a twenty year old needed to worry about voice cracking at this point in his life. “Ready fer what?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Work,” Hitoka said. “I’ve noticed you’ve been busy, staying late, coming in early.” She turned her head a little, the smile fading from her face as her expression lifted. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself,” Hitoka said in concern. “We can’t have one of our best chefs not feeling well.” Osamu felt himself smile, his spirits lifted a little. Hitoka always tended to do that to him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah,” Osamu replied, the back of his throat dry as he watched Hitoka push her sleeves up to her elbows and head to the sink. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2"><br/>
The day was long, stressful, and Osamu just wanted to head home, curl up on the couch and reread some cook books. His chef trainer had yelled at him a few times, he dropped and broke a glass, he messed up a dish, and he argued with another co-worker.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu was beat.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He felt the bags beginning to circle around his eyes, his eyelids were feeling droopy.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu felt awful.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">That was until Hitoka walked into the kitchen after hours. She untied the apron from around her waist and folded it up, hanging it on her arm. Her attention moved up from the cloth as she looked to Osamu walking in the room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Hitoka flashed him a smile but it turned into a small pout. “You better be going home.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Huh?” Osamu stepped into the kitchen, moving to wash his hands at the sink. “Whaddya mean?” He asked, drying his hands on a small towel. His hands reached to his back, pulling the string on his apron and untying it in one motion. He pulled it off over his head, fixing his hair by running fingers through it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not letting you stay late. You’re going home.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu couldn’t get another word out as Hitoka snatched his apron from him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Hey—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Go home.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu thought on it, staring back at Hitoka who glared at him. Even though she was trying to look threatening, there still laid a soft look in her eyes. She looked tired as well, probably from lugging loads of dishes back and forth from the tables to the kitchen. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t ya walk home?” Osamu asked. He remembered multiples times he’d pulled into the parking lot and see her riding up in a bike or jogging down the side walk. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Hitoka nodded.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I’ll make ya a deal then,” Osamu said, and he leaned back on the counter. He tried not to seem nervous even though his request he was about to say make made him shake just thinking of it. “I’ll leave now if ya let me drive ya home.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Seriously?” Hitoka laughed, and she nodded. “Deal.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">The car ride was silent for the most part, that was kind of what Osamu expected. There was silence but one noise: Hitoka. She hummed a song while drumming her fingers on the car door, nodding her head slightly while looking out of the window. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">To Osamu, the song was sweet. The soft hum of her voice brought butterflies to his stomach, made him feel relaxed like he could close his eyes (he better not considering he was driving), like he could tell her anything in the world without consequence.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Even the fact that he was in love with her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">He didn’t, of course.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Instead he walked her to her doorstep, stopped there with her to exchange their goodbyes. The pink tinted sky behind her made Osamu feel like it was one of those romance movies where the guy would confess to girl, the girl would sob and return the feelings, and they would kiss and get married or whatever. (Osamu wasn’t a hundred percent sure what happened in those stupid romance movies since he only knew them from when he caught Atsumu sobbing over them at three in the morning crying, </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s4">‘Samu, why can’t I find someone like that?’</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2"> Dramatic ass).</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Thank you,” Hitoka said. “I was kind of tired today too, if I’m being perfectly honest.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“I could tell.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">She laughed, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “Yeah, yeah, sorry if I worried you or anything.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">There was an awkward silence between them, none of them knew what to say next. Osamu wondered if he should confess right then and there, just go one and say, </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s4">‘I think yer really pretty ‘n cute ‘n sweet ‘n ‘m kinda hopin’ ya might wanna go on a date with me?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Tomorrow is another day.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu looked to her. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Sorry if that seemed weird!” Hitoka said, and she scratched the back of her head with a nervous giggle. “I just, you seemed stress about today, so just remember: tomorrow is another day. A fresh new start.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">Osamu smiled and nodded. “Yeah, yer right.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s2">“Later, Osamu! Goodnight!” Hitoka said before opening the door to her apartment and slipping inside.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <em>
    <span class="s4">‘Tomorrow is another day.’</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2"> Osamu smiled, and he began his walk back to his car . </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s4">‘Tomorrow is another day and another chance.’</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Twitter @mattsuhana</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>